


I'll Return in a Fury

by ghost_maiden_of_delphi



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Backstory, Dominance, F/F, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Light BDSM, Submission, Swordfighting, Swordplay, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-11-01 10:30:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_maiden_of_delphi/pseuds/ghost_maiden_of_delphi
Summary: Adelaine du Castille is, in every way, the perfect noble daughter, but she holds a precious secret with the power to ruin her family forever: her affair with the daughter of her father's greatest rival.What will she do to keep this secret? And what will her father, the ruthless Marquis, do if he finds out?The backstory for a D&D character I made for my friend's fifth edition game. Primarily lesbian romance with a bit of smut in the middle (my first attempt at sexy writing) and some violence and abuse themes in later chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by this real life story I got from the Q.I. Twitter account:
> 
>  
> 
> _"Julie d'Aubigny was a seventeenth-century traveling swordswoman. Among her other exploits, when her (female) lover was sent to a convent, she also entered the convent, stole the body of a dead nun, placed it in her lover's bed, escaped with her lover - and burnt the convent down."_

Adelaine du Castille was perfect.

She knew it. Everyone said so. She did everything perfectly. Her manners were immaculate. She tended the finest roses in the kingdom. She could perform every dance expected of a young woman so gracefully that she had brought her last two suitors to tears before she’d tossed them from the castle. She wrote beautiful poetry that had been published in a half-a-dozen languages. She had done the translations herself, and she had done them perfectly. At twenty-four, she was, in every way, the perfect young noble woman.

And more than that, as well.

Sun caught off the edge of her blade as she brought the perfectly timed parry to meet the edge of her opponent’s sword. The clang of steel was still ringing as she delivered her riposte, the practice blade’s blunt edge finding home in the seam between the armor on his thigh and knee. She heard him grunt, but did not slow down on the follow up strikes that clashed against his right shoulder, then his helmet.

Adelaine’s silver armor was polished to a radiant shine. This was not so impressive, as there were rarely any scratches to buff out.

She kept her body angled to her attacker and her blade almost fully extended in her right hand. Her left, which normally held a shield, was tucked behind her back. She didn’t need a shield for this. Her opponent had one, but he wasn’t adept enough to put it to any use.

The head shot left him dazed, and she backed off while he stumbled away.

He righted himself, made an angry grunt and rushed her, shield forward and sword high like a scorpion’s tail.

She sighed.

They never learned. Never got more clever or interesting. Just angry at the insolence of her perfection.

With a careful, precise double step she moved from his path and swung her sword low, catching his ankle as he passed.

His leg went from under him and with all his momentum he slammed, shield first, into the ground with a great, clattering crash. He groaned, rolling onto his back and dropping his weapon.

“Yield…” He moaned.

Adelaine made a humph sound and tossed her sword away. She looked at the line of knights and squires at the edge of the training pitch, each with his eyes wide and mouth agape. Some of them had never seen her fight before. Some had.

A petite, blonde-locked boy of about sixteen ran to her. He wore a green jerkin and brown pants. Over his left breast was sown the symbol of of a phoenix rising through a ring of flame. His features were fairly plain, but the tips of his ears came to a point.

“Well fought, Madame Adelaine.” He spoke languidly, his tone more casual and light than his words.

She took off her red plumed helmet and tossed it to him, shaking out long hair the color of hot embers.

“Two years ago that man called himself my tutor and promised his training to be so intense, it would send me back to the loom in tears. Tell me, Austen, why do the men with the most bravado always have the least skill?”

“I’m afraid my knowledge of men’s ways does not extend to their bravado, my lady.”

She barked a laugh. “Indeed. Come along. I need to be out of this armor before my audience with the Marquis.”

Adelaine liked Austen best among all the squire’s she had. He was amusing, and had few ambitions beyond being in her service. All of the others came to her either in the interest of impressing her father enough that he’d raise the station of their name, or impressing her enough that she’d take them as her groom. The best of these men left her in tears. The worst left in eunuch’s robes.

Austen had no interest in either, and she enjoyed his company all the more for it.

He helped her out of her plate, and into a well fitted suit of purple silk trimmed with gold thread. Over that she wore a high fronted skirt that reached her ankles in the back. It buckled on simply and would be quick to remove once she was done with her audience.

______________________________________________________________

Even in the middle of the day, her family home, _Chateau L’opacité_ , was dark and dreary, and torches were lit along even the outer corridors. The whole of the castle had been made from a vein of smooth granite so dark that it was nearly black, and seemed to suck in sunlight as it poured in.

She found her father, the Marquis du Castille, in his study, a long chamber at the base of his tower. A red carpet led from the door to his massive, oaken desk, silhouetted by a huge window. She knocked twice before entering to see her father looking over parchment with his advisers, two portly men in velvet doublets.

She made a small curtsy. “ _Monseigneurs_ , beg pardon for my intrusion, I was asked to hold audience with my father, the Marquis, at this time.”

One nodded and gathered a few documents before heading out, bowing deeply to Adelaine as he passed. The other stared at her sourly for a moment before following. He bowed with a quick, jerking of his head before slamming the door behind him.

“I do not believe,” she said, “Monseigneur Robert has forgiven me for what I did to his son.”

Her father looked at her over his small spectacles. “You threw him out a window.”

“He made untoward advances upon me.”

“He was fixing your brooch.”

“And I was terribly surprised.”

He broke into a smile. “Come in, sit, _mon petit fleur_.”

That nickname survived all of Adelaine’s life, even as she surpassed her father’s height.

She approached and took a seat at one of the soft, embroidered chairs before the desk.

“ _Premier_ ,” he said, “A missive from your mother.” He handed her a sealed envelope.

“Ah, how does she fair in Lorenze?”

“Talks are good, to hear her say it. The King is thrilled with her. If she managed to secure the import route, we will benefit greatly.”

“Yes,” she tucked the letter into her jacket, “I’m sure he appreciates her…services.”

If her father caught her meaning, he paid it no mind.

“Next, you’ve received another letter of intent, this time from Jacquard Monneau.”

She took the scroll and unfurled it. Sickly swoops of overwrought calligraphy delivered the same message she had already heard a hundred times from a hundred men.

“Jacquard? The one who slurps his wine and started going bald at thirteen?” She tossed it behind her. “Pass.”

“His family is base, so it is no loss, but you will need to settle on a husband eventually. Before you know it, you’ll have offended every man in Montejuron, and I’d rather my daughter not become an old maid.”

“You once told me no prince would be good enough for your _bien-amé_.”

“And I was right. But all you need to do is secure some fool’s holdings, have a few children, and then you only need see him for Sunday dinner.”

“Ah, _Papá_ , such the romantic.”

“Fine, I’ll drop it. For now.”

There was a quick series of knocks at the door.

“Come in,” her father called.

Austen poked his head in, “ _Excusez-moi, monseigneur_ , I was asked to inform my lady that her horse has been prepared and awaits her in the north stables.”

“ _Merci_ , Austen. I’ll be along shortly.”

He did a little bow and made his exit.

“Riding again?” He father cocked an eyebrow. “That’s every day this week.”

“I enjoy the exercise,” she waved him off, “Perhaps I’ll try my hand at the races, one of these days.”

“Hmm. And the training?”

“When I was child, defeating men of twice my size was a proud practice. As a woman, it has only served that I have no one left to offer me challenge.”

“Well, in the absence of any twelve foot swordsmen, see that you do not slack in the meantime. I rather enjoyed you sending Comte Baptiste’s oldest son to the ground in the last tournament. I’d much like to see you it again.”

She smiled, “Assuming he has not exchanged his arms for a god’s, I don’t see that being an issue.”

He laughed. “Good. Alright, you’re dismissed. Enjoy your ride.”

“Thank you, _Papá_.” She leaned over the table to kiss him on each cheek. “It promises to be a pleasurable outing.”

______________________________________________________________

By the time she reached the stairs, she’d unbuckled her skirt and handed it to Austen who was jogging to keep up with her long stride.

They descended into the courtyard, toward the northern entrance of the keep where a stable-hand had a great, gray mare saddled and leashed, awaiting her arrival. The large steed chomped its bit, pulling at the young man’s grip.

 _Démonté_ was a fantastic horse. Adelaine had raised her from a foal and trained her herself. In her hands, she was well behaved and remarkably precise, but for anyone else the horse was as wild as a _démon_ , hence her name.

Adelaine boarded the mare with a leap, offering no warning as the lead was wrenched from the boy’s hand. He balked at his red palms, did a harried bow, and dashed off.

“I may be back late.” She told Austen. “If my father asks…”

“You’ve taken to your room to read, and will not require dinner.”

“Perfect. I will see you in the morning, Austen.”

“And I you, my lady. Do tell the _Comtesse_ I said hello.”

She flashed him a grin and took off through the gate at a gallop.


	2. A Worthwhile Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adelaine has a little adventure in the woods.

Between the high, snow-capped peaks full of the silver ore that made up the life-blood on Montejuron were great, green valleys nourished through the warm seasons by crisp snow-melt. It was here that the small nation had built it’s great city, surrounded by open, verdant wilder lands.

Adelaine delighted in the feel of the cool Spring air that bit against her skin as Démonté roared across the plains, the flat, even earth better than roads under the big horse’s confident hooves.

Her father’s lands were large, extending far beyond the capitol city upon which they bordered, and continued several miles until they ended at their nearest lordly neighbors: The Baptiste’s.

They were her families chief rivals, the two of them always fighting for the lion’s share of the King’s favor. It seemed to change like the seasons, who was more powerful, the Baptistes or the du Castilles, but the only thing that was sure was that neither held it for long, and the members of each family hated one another with a blood fury.

Adelaine saw past that. The King would never promote one family over the other permanently. Their competition forced them into a constant state of one-upsmanship, endlessly providing greater services for the nation, and their liege, in it’s pursuit.

It had mattered to her, once. She was as committed as her father, and sought to bring their name great honor when she inherited his titles and duties. Truly, they’d go to her husband, but even then she knew she’d never be subservient to any man. She was a du Castille, and her families fight was hers, and hers alone.

That was until two years ago.

She remembered it like a dream. The flash of shining teeth and raven hair. The touch of silk across the curve of her breast. Even now, as she rode, she felt electricity dance below her hips.

She came to a thick line of trees: the marker of the border between the territories. She slowed Démonté and guided her, carefully, between the trunks. Light filtered to a soft haze through the high branches, and bird song drifted along the air. Her father was too proud to ever venture into these woods, which was a shame. They were the most beautiful and serene part of their lands, even if they were shared with a rival.

Eventually she came upon a small cottage. A single floor, layered in stone and wood. The roof was thatched with straw, and firelight poured through the little, glass windows. Outside, grazing on dandelions, was a lithe, tawny horse.

She never known who’d built it. Perhaps some old grounds keeper, or an exile from one of their families had lived there generations ago, but it had been in a state of disrepair when she’d found it. It had taken two months to learn how to repair the little house, and another to actually do so, but, of course, she’d done it perfectly, and now the cozy chalet was better than new.

She rode Démonté to the entrance, disembarking next to the chestnut mare and patted the horse on the neck.

“Don’t stray too far. And get along with Bagatelle. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The horse huffed and leaned down to munch a clump of rich grass. Adelaine chuckled and pushed through the wooden door into the little cottage.

It was a simple, single room. There was a large, cobblestone fireplace, a heavy, handmade dining table with two chairs, and a large, four-poster bed that Adelaine had smuggled out of the castle piece by piece. Against the far wall was little kitchen area with a counter and wood stove, where a woman was pouring wine into two chalices, one silver, the other gold.

She was thin and tall, though still half-a-head under Adelaine. Her dense locks of curly, black, hair hung to her shoulders in a halo, and firelight glinted gold off of her rich, brown skin. She wore a simple, sleeveless gown of green silk with a low, plunging neckline. Adelaine could see she wore nothing underneath.

“Why,” Adelaine feigned, “The _Comtesse du Baptiste_? Out here in the woods? Does your father know? Surely your brothers are nearby, ready to save you from any brute who may harbor you ill intent?”

“No,” she replied with faux innocence, “They do not know I am here, but hopefully no horrid brigands will accost me while I lounge about in this fragile _negligé_.”

“Don’t worry,” Adelaine said, crossing the room in three long steps. She placed her hands on the other woman’s waist. “I am a local chevalier, and I shall keep you safe.”

“But you are so _séduisant_ and _charmant_. How do I know you are not really one of those wily rogues, like in my books? Here to take my innocence?”

She grinned. “You’ll just have to trust me.” She leaned down to claim the Comtesse’s lips with her own. The kiss was deep and searching, and started and ended a dozen times before the pair finally parted.

“Addie,” she panted, “Will you ever get tired of that joke?”

“Only when I am tired of you, Jeanne. Which shall be never.”

Jeanne laughed, “Then I suppose I will have to bear it.” She took Adelaine’s jacket and handed her a the golden cup of the dark wine.

Adelaine sipped it. “You’re free from your obligations for the day?”

“Until tomorrow,” she took up her own silver cup, “Though I fear I’ll have to leave early in the morning.”

“Poo,” She made a pouting face and brushed her fingers over Jeanne’s shoulders. “Then we must make the most of every moment we have.”

She grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into another kiss. Jeanne guided them over to the big bed and pushed the taller girl onto it. She straddled the Adelaine’s waist, unfastening her silk shirt one agonizing button at a time.

“ _Mon amour_ ,” Adelaine smirked, “I said ‘make the most.’ Could you go a little faster?”

The Comtesse stopped her work on Adelaine’s blouse and gripped her lover’s face, squishing her cheeks.

“Don’t rush it, my love. The anticipation makes the release all the sweeter. Now, do not interrupt me again.”

Adelaine grinned wickedly, “Oh, Comtesse, I know your father said to follow your commands, but this seems so strange a thing for a knight to do!”

Jeanne cocked an eyebrow, then a smile spread across her face.

“But you are a knight, and that makes me your Lady. You wish to please me, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course, mistress.”

“Then stay quiet while I unwrap you.”

She continued to unbutton the blouse, revealing the simple, cotton chemise underneath. She parted the shirt and saw the shapely curve of Adelaine’s breast. Jeanne brushed her thumbs over the cap of her nipples, causing the taller woman to gasp through her teeth.

“My knight is sensitive, isn’t she? Raise your arms.”

She did, and Jeanne lifted off her blouse, which she threw aside, then her chemise which, when she reached her wrists, she pulled tight, wrapping it around them and tying it in place.

Adelaine looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“Is that okay?” Jeanne whispered.

“Uh, sure. Yes. Yes, please, go on.”

“Good, tell me if it goes too far, okay? Now, I don’t want you going anywhere, my little knight. But you aren’t little, are you?” She ran her hands down Adelaine’s toned arms and muscular shoulders, over her pert, firm breasts, taking hold and squeezing. “Well, maybe a bit.”

Adelaine made a pouty face but Jeanne silenced it with a deep kiss, exploring her mouth with her tongue while her hands roamed her well-muscled body. She grabbed the front of her breeches, pulling at the clasp until it came undone and plunged her hand inside.

Adelaine gasped into the kiss.

“Oh! Do you like that?” She rested her fingertips just outside of her lips, pressing ever so gently within. “But we don’t want to get too ahead of ourselves, do we?”

The knight whimpered as Jeanne withdrew her hand and dismounted her. She stood next to the bed, grabbed the waist of her pants, and shucked them off in one smooth motion. She looked over the redhead, taking in her tall, toned form laid bare and helpless before her. Adelaine squirmed, unsure of how to deal with the one-sided attention.

“Do you like it,” Jeanne asked, slinking up Adelaine’s body, running a teasing hand across her belly, “When I look at you like a piece of meat? That’s all you are, with these muscles.” She traced the lines of her abs. “A filthy, lewd piece of meat for my pleasure. So, let’s use you.”

She grabbed the edge of her own gown, pulling it over her head to show off her body. Adelaine’s breath quickened as she gazed over plunging lines of the darker woman’s body. She watched the rise and fall of her heavy breasts with hypnotic attention.

“My, what an unchivalrous look that is, my knight.” She moved on top of Adelaine, straddling her with all fours. “Why don’t we put it to use?”

She scooted forward, aligning her womanhood with Adelaine’s face.

“Well?” She said, “Show me what you’re for, my knight.”

Adelaine raised her head into Jeanne’s folds, teasing her open with her lips and small, nibbling bites of her teeth working her way deeper and deeper within.

Jeanne gasped and moaned, “I, ah! I knew it. You were, hnnn, made for this, you filthy jezebel.”

She gasped and writhed, suspended over Adelaine by the pleasure alone for a blissful eternity, arching her back every few seconds as the redhead would find her pleasure button. After some time, she leaned back, braced on one arm and careful not to break her connection with her lover’s perfect lips, until she was at an angle to reach Adelaine’s nethers with her hand.

Adelaine was eager, now, and Jeanne slipped in with ease. She felt her partner gasp into her, breaking the rhythm of her lips and tongue. She explored within Adelaine with practiced ease, looking for that one, perfect spot. She felt the texture as she curved her fingers inward and Adelaine’s whole body seized, back arching off the bed as she was wracked with ecstasy.

“Such, hah, a dirty body,” she panted.

It was a race now, as they pleasured one another, the heat and tension building palpably in the little cottage as they neared their zenith. Jeanne took the edge, gripping her lover’s sex, finger’s pressed against her perfect spot while her thumb pressed hard against her clitoris. The strong woman convulsed as though electricity had been run through her, moaning with uncharacteristic intensity and aplomb.

The vibrations, and the knowledge of how she had taken control of her lover brought Jeanne over the edge. She arched her back, her chest swelling with a scream that stayed trapped in her lungs until, when it all left her, she collapsed, falling against Adelaine, panting heavily. She gripped the sheets and righted herself, resting her head on Adelaine’s strong shoulder.

“That,” Adelaine panted, “Was different.”

“Mmm, did you enjoy it?”

Adelaine said nothing, but the pink that spread through her cheeks said a thousand words. Jeanne smiled and kissed her, gently. Adelaine brought her bound hands down.

“Can you help me with these?”

Jeanne just laughed and said, “And why would I, _mon cherí_? That is but one little adventure. We still have a whole night before us, and I have so much more planned for you.”

Adelaine regretted the big, goofy grin that broke across her face.

Though not for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what got into me with this chapter, I never write smut, and it isn't exactly my forte, so i hope it turned out alright. Anyway, I hoped you liked it and check back soon for the next chapter!


	3. I Cannot Bear This Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adelaine returns home to greet an unexpected visitor and discovers unpleasant news of her future.

Adelaine woke the next morning to Jeanne kissing her. It was early and faint, pale dawn-light filtered through the windows.

“How are you feeling, mon cher?” She asked.

“Sore,” she grinned, “That mistress of mine put me through the paces.”

Jeanne laughed and playfully slapped her cheek.

“I have to go. I’m expected for breakfast.”

“When will I see you again?”

“Tomorrow evening, I can leave home as soon as my father dismisses the Monast’s.”

Adelaine sat up, “Is Denis planning to propose?”

She waved dismissively, “If he does I’ll turn him down. Though my father is getting tired of my excuses.”

“Mine as well. I wish…I wish we could run away, together. Away from all of this.”

“Where would we go?”

“Wherever our hearts take us, _mon ami_.”

Jeanne laughed and kissed her again. “It is a nice dream. Perhaps…”

“No,” Adelaine shook her head, “It’s a foolish request, unfair of me to ask. You have your responsibilities, I know, and little Gabrielle depends on you. Don’t promise what you know you cannot do.”

“We’ll find a way to be together. No matter what.”

Adelaine nodded, but she wouldn’t meet her lover’s eyes.

Jeanne lifted her chin and pressed her lips softly against Adelaine’s.

“Someday.”

Adelaine was unable to return to sleep after her lover departed. She dawdled, a bit, in the little cabin, putting away the wine and making the bed before she truly had no more reason to be there and left upon Démonté.

The sun had just left the horizon as she crossed back through the black gates of her home. She knew her father would have already sat down to breakfast, and, after stowing her horse in the stable, she headed for the kitchen to sneak a quick bite.

The large, brick room was fairly quiet, still warm with the activity of breakfast. Now only a few cooks and porters were bustling about, tidying up and preparing for the lunch rush. She didn’t have to worry about the servants noting her presence. They’d learned, in service to her father, that when the du Castilles were present, their eyes should be cast downward. She was never as cruel as he was, or as unforgiving, but they didn’t matter to her. She ignored them.

Still, she managed to secure a handful of rolls and a chunk of smooth cheese and had nearly made her way out when a voice stopped her.

“There you are! What are you sneaking around for, dear Addie?”

She turned toward the scullery entrance where a man was leaning against the doorway. He was thin and not so tall, dressed in a fine, white silk shirt under a tight, black waistcoat and trousers. His artfully disheveled red hair hung just past his ears in loose curls, and his boyish face was plastered with what Adelaine knew to be a perpetually devilish grin.

“Bryce?” She asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I not visit my favorite cousin when the mood takes me? It was oh, so dull in the countryside, my families manor leaves much to be desired in terms of entertaining my particular sensibilities. I was just enjoying breakfast with your lovely father, lamenting your absence, when I remembered how we would sneak into this kitchen as children and purloin the occasional fruit tart.”

“Yes, well, you have found me. What did you want, Bryce?”

“To catch up! I arrived late last night and was informed you were holed up in your room, so no audience. I assumed you were sleeping in, but you smell as though you’ve been riding?”

“Yes,” she blurted, “I rose early to take Démonté out.”

“Ah, that explains it. You’re father said you’ve been quite attentive to your horse of late.”

“I have. On that note, I’m headed to take a bath. We shall…catch up over lunch, yes?”

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it. And see they tend to your hair, Addie, you look like you slept in a bird’s nest. _Au revoir_.”

_____________________________________________________________________

Adelaine found Austen in his quarters and had him draw her a bath in her own private washroom, en suite to her own room. The huge washroom was resplendent in white marble with a large, claw footed tub in the center.

There was a vanity, as well, an opulent gift from her mother at an age where it may have been feasible that Adelaine would be the sort of girl who fussed over her makeup for hours on end. She still had the basics, and used them when required, but it was more laden, now, with variety of combs, brushes, clips, and ties, all the tools needed to keep her long locks under control.

Austen filled the tub with steaming water in no time at all, and attended to Adelaine while she relaxed in it. Adelaine did not consider it a risk to be around him in any state of undress.

“What,” he asked, “Is the trouble with your cousin? He seems nice enough, and the rest of the staff seem to like him.”

“They’ll revere anyone who doesn’t beat them when they drop a plate,” she answered, “Bryce and I were close, as children, but he grew to be…untrustworthy. His father, my uncle, was the younger child and lost the lion’s share of the inheritance to my father. I think Bryce resents that, and me for inheriting it.”

“He’s said so?”

“No, of course not,” she grabbed the loofah from the little brass side table and scrubbed at her shoulders, “He’s a lighter touch than that. It’s just a feeling, really. I don’t trust him.”

“Do you think he’s up to something?”

“Probably. Watch what you say to him, _compris_?”

“Of course. Want me to get your back?”

After she dried and dressed in a long shirt of green velvet and matching leggings, she headed to the dining room where Bryce had already taken up at her father’s right.

“And then,” chuckled Bryce, “Father looks at the man and says ‘You fool, does it look like this fits me? The sleeves are far too long!’ And the tailor says, ‘My lord, those are the trousers.’”

Both men threw their heads back in laughter.

“My brother,” the Marquis grinned, “Always the perfect ass. Ah, Adelaine, join us, lunch will be just a moment.”

She smiled, pleasantly, and sat at her father’s left. At once, servants emerged, serving roast chicken crusted with strong cheese, fresh baked baguettes, and lightly dressed bowls of wild greens.

The jocularity ended as the food came out and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

“So, dear Addie,” Bryce finally said, “You look so well, I swear you’re still getting taller.”

“Maybe you’re just shrinking Bryce.” She grinned.

His eye twinkled, “Or maybe you just have giants in your blood, eh?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” her father scoffed, “I remember when I met my wife’s brothers for the first time. Madeline’s no dwarf, herself, but those lads made me think I’d taken a wrong turn up a beanstalk.”

Bryce chuckled politely, “Did I see that half-elf boy in the hall, what’s his name?”

“Austen.”

“Yes, of course. This is the longest you’ve held an attendant, if I recall.”

“He’s good.” She agreed. “And pleasant to be around. And he doesn’t sneak into my room at night to smell my hair.”

“Ah, yes. Did Conrad ever walk again?”

“Not well.”

“Yes, no ladies in waiting for my daughter. The only one quit after a single afternoon chasing Adelaine through the yard. Same with nearly every girl who hoped to be your friend.”

“Delicate little flowers,” Adelaine smiled, “They were better off.”

“You’ll be hard pressed for bridesmaids, cousin.” Bryce grinned. “Speaking of which, I’m surprised such a beautiful young woman is not, at the very least, engaged yet.”

“I have not met a man who impressed me.”

“Still, such a shame. And poor Uncle Renard, with no man to inherit his house, you must be getting worried.”

“I’m not concerned yet,” he said, “Though we’ll likely solicit a bigger showing come next Spring.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, father, is it?” This was news to her.

“You’ve had your fun, _mon fleur_ , but you must settle down while you still can. Before you know it, you’ll be unable to bear yourself an heir.”

“I…” her mind raced. She’d always put this fate, this inevitability into the vague stretches of the future, but now it was roaring after her like a here hound. “I suppose, father.”

“Good. Your mother will be back before then. You know how she loves such things, she’ll be a better hand at the planning than I.”

“Perhaps you’ll hold a tournament.” Bryce suggested. “Only the finest fighter may wed brave Adelaine. Then make the victor duel you.”

Her father shook his head. “That’s how you end up with an old man, judging by skill. Or, knowing how Adelaine fights, no man at all.”

They laughed, but Adelaine was a million miles away. Or, more accurately, five miles away, in a little cottage tucked behind the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Things get a little dark after here, so check back soon for the next chapter!


	4. The Last Night

She did her best to avoid Bryce for the rest of that day and the next, taking meals in her room and practicing her swordsmanship in the fields beyond the walls of the castle.

Early the next evening, she left upon Démonté without a word.

She came to the little cottage where the tawny horse was already parked and rushed within, her brow furrowed and eyes cast down.

Jeanne had not yet changed, still in a sky blue day dress, when Adelaine entered.

 _“Mon cherí_ , what’s wro-”

She was silenced as the taller woman drew her into a tight embrace. She recovered her surprise and wrapped her gentle arms round Adelaine’s middle. They stayed like that, simply holding each other, for some time.

Finally, Adelaine released her grip, and they parted.

Jeanne caressed her face, “Now, tell me what happened.”

She did. They sat at the table, hands intertwined while Adelaine explained the events since she’d last seen her beloved.

“I see,” Jeanne sighed, “My father has made similar arrangements.”

“He has?”

“Yes, he plans to send out the invitations in the autumn. I suppose this was bound to happen, our obligations were always going to catch up with us.”

“But what does this mean?” Adelaine cried. “How long do we have together? What if…what if I’m not able to-”

Jeanne silenced her, this time, with a deep kiss.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her breath playing over Adelaine’s lips, “We can’t know what tomorrow will bring. But we know what we have now. What we have tonight.”

They kissed again and melted into it with a fervor and desperation to feel and touch and taste every part of each other, memorizing each sensation for fear that they would never feel them again. It was beautiful and sad, and perfect.

Late that night, they panted, naked, limbs entwined on the bed. The covers had long been thrown off long ago, and gentle moonlight caressed their skin.

“We could still see each other.” Adelaine said, quietly, “Perhaps even more often. We need not be tethered to our husbands.”

“But how would that look?”

“Like we live in a marriage without love. It’s not out of the ordinary. That’s how my parents are.”

“Is that really how you want to live?” She asked. “Pretending for the world, only truly loving in silence?”

“It’s what we have now.”

“I know, but…I always saw this as…temporary. That one day, things could change. A life like that…it seems so hollow. And…”

“What?”

“I am not the oldest. I have no claim to my father’s estate. My husband could be far away. Too far for us to see each other.”

Adelaine’s blood turned to ice.

“I hadn’t thought of that. But w-what else is there, except to give up?”

Jeanne turned to face her.

“There is hope, mon amour. That there is another way. That we will be together.”

That was the last night they’d spend together for a long time.


	5. The Dream is Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fantasy comes to an end. Adelaine pays for her love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Brutal violence, parental abuse and neglect, physical abuse and torture. Please read on with caution.

The castle was quiet when Adelaine returned the next day, as was Austen when he greeted her at the stable. He silently stowed her horse and escorted Adelaine to her room before excusing himself on some other business.

Adelaine washed and dressed and headed to the training yard only to find it empty except for the servants who tended to the grounds and weapons, as was as Burnell, the the burly dwarven blacksmith, who was tending to his forge.

“Burnell,” Adelaine greeted him, “Where is everyone?”

“Huh?” He was hard of hearing after years at the anvil, “Oh, Dame Adelaine, a pleasant morning.”

“It’s quiet. Where are all the _chevaliers_? The trainers?”

“Your took them out with him, along with half the castle, it seems. Some business in the capital, I don’t know much.”

“What else is new?” she muttered.

She returned to the castle, but found it equally barren. Only a handful of maids and porters ambled the halls, and she found no trace of her father or Bryce. Even Austen was not in his room when she checked.

She returned to her quarters and attempted to occupy herself reading, but found her stomach too full of butterflies, and after an hour of rereading the same page over and over, gave up on that endeavor.

The sun had nearly set when there was finally some activity, a rapping at her door. She opened and found Austen, his face contorted into a look of discomfort.

“This arrived for you, Madame.”

He handed her a small scroll. She unfurled it and saw the familiar sight of Jeanne’s small, swooping calligraphy. It read ‘Come to our place. I need to see you urgently.’

Austen had smuggled missives for them before, but never in broad daylight like this. Her stomach twisted as she thought of the trouble her lover may have been in that she needed Adelaine so soon.

“Prepare my horse.” She said.

Austen looked ready to speak, but bit something back.

“What is it?” She asked. It was unlike him to hold a comment.

“I…Perhaps you shouldn’t, yet, Adelaine. Wait until morning, then go to her.”

She searched his face, it was a mask of vague concern.

“She needs me, Austen. I shall not make her wait.”

She dressed quickly in dueling armor, a single pauldron, light greaves, and heavy gloves, and strung her favorite longsword, _Chercheur de Force_ , and ran to the stables where Austen had Démonté in hand. She boarded him in a hurried leap.

“I beg you, _Madame_.” Austen choked. “Do not go.”

But she did not hear him as she raced Démonté out of the gate and across the plain. Her heart beat the inside of her chest like a war drum, fearing for Jeanne’s safety, though she felt reprieve when she saw the familiar brown mare outside of the little chateau.

She practically leapt off of her horse and burst through the door.

“So, it’s true.”

Flanked by two guards in shining plate was the Marquis du Castille, sitting at the little wooden table. Next to him, sipping wine from Jeanne’s silver chalice, was Bryce.

Adelaine was without words. Her brain turned to lead, and her blood to ice. She stared, dumbstruck, at her father.

“I told you.” Bryce smiled.

“Y-y-you…”

“Yes, dear Addie. I followed you last evening, I was so concerned, you see. Imagine how surprised when I found you here with none than Jeanne du Baptiste. And the things you were doing.” He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Shameful.”

She held up the note. “It’s in her handwriting.”

“I’m not pleased to say,” said her father, “That I consulted with the Comte de Baptiste over Bryce’s terrible accusations. When we discovered that the both of you had taken a sudden interest in equine sports, well…”

“It was hardly a stretch, Addie. Jeanne wrote it herself. Her father made her.”

Adelaine’s blood turned to fire.

“If you hurt her…”

“She’s fine,” her father barked, “Especially since you are going to end this sick game at once. Bad enough that you would consort with a member of that depraved clan, but to engage in such…deviance. Such unholy acts. If this got out we’d be ruined, Adelaine. Now, you will return to the castle where I’ll decide what is to be done with you.”

“Father…”

“Enough!” He yelled, “You do not entreat my mercy, not now! You are no daughter of mine, you are a beast that must be brought in line before you are presentable enough for my court. Now, return to the castle.”

She did. There was no fight in her that night. Only a place where the hope she held once lived before it was burned from her soul. The guards disarmed her, and escorted her to her her quarters, where she was to be barred in until her father said otherwise.

She found Austen waiting in her room when she arrived.

“It was you.” She said.

He couldn’t meet her eyes.

“The last few times Bryce was here, we…met, in private. He was handsome and kind, and…I liked him. He must’ve heard a rumor, a whisper elsewhere. What he asked could only have made any sense to him if that were the case.”

“You told him where?”

He shook his head. “But he knew to watch you ride out. I’m…I’m so sorry, Adelaine, I never meant…I’d have told your father about him, but…My word is nothing against a noble’s. They’d kill me, whether they found me to be a liar or a deviant.”

Adelaine stormed forward, grabbing him by his shirt front and lifting him off the ground so they were nose to nose.

“If I ever see you again,” Adelaine seethed, “I will throw you from that window. And, if you survive, I shall do it again every evening until one of us is dead. Do you understand?”

He seemed about to speak, to apologize again, but changed his mind. Adelaine dropped him and he ran out, slamming the door behind him.

_____________________________________________________________________

It would be more than fair to say that Adelaine’s life had been one of extraordinary privilege up to that point. She had never wanted for anything in her time on this world, never hunger, or adversity. So it must be remarked that, even for an ordinary person, the cruelty she faced in the following weeks was far beyond the norm, and for her it may well have been agony worthy of the nine hells.

She was not given food for three days. At first, the sickness of her heart did not make her want for anything, but even when her stomach began to rumble, it did not come. After those three, she was slipped meager meals of hard bread and plain broth, never more than twice in a day, and often less.

No one spoke a word to her or ever visited in those first weeks. She was not allowed to leave her room. She had to use the same water to clean herself as to drink, and, as such, had to ration both uses.

She endured this for two weeks before she was ordered to dress in a white tunic and breeches and the guards led her down the castle to a room under the hall. It was bare, save for a single chain hanging from the ceiling.

There were four more guards here and her father, who was clad all in black and held a large, leather bundle.

Her escorts placed her hands in shackles, lead her to the center of the room, where she was bound to the hanging chain. She hung just high enough that her feet just barely brushed against the cold, black stone of the floor.

“You will spend all of your life making amends to me,” her father said, “But it is not only me. You have also offended the gods with your profane acts. You must make amends to them as well. But, before then, you must be cleansed of that taint so you may present yourself to them.”

She saw him reach into the bundle and pull something out. A bull whip.

“Know, child,” he practically whispered, “That I do this for you. I do this for your soul.”

He ripped the skin from her back that day. Over and over the strikes came. He never said a word, and she never let out a cry. Every day for a week she was brought down to that dungeon and subjected to the same cruelties. Every day he said it was to cleanse the taint. To purify her.

Never once did she cry.

After seven days of this, the trips ended, and she was returned to her solitude. Her father never sent a doctor or cleric, but she had learned to treat wounds in the field to prevent infection and staunch the bleeding. She would not die, but the scars would never fade.

That night, her father came to her room holding a heaping plate of hot, roasted meat. He placed it on her table.

“Enjoy. You’ve earned it. I’m sure Démonté was proud to give it. She certainly deserved to for his role in your sin, but at least she can atone by assisting in your rehabilitation.”

He left her alone again for nearly a fortnight, until one evening, there was knock at her door, and it opened for the Marquis.

“I’ve made a decision as to your fate. I can hardly afford to lose my heir, nor can I ever let this embarrassment see the light of day. Once week hence, you will swear an oath of repentance and service to the church as one of their Paladins. The next day, you will leave Montejuron. You’ll be given supplies, and our seal, and you shall go to neighboring kingdoms to entreat the Noblemen there to be your husband. We can tell others you refused to marry an unworthy man, and swore to search the world until you found on. Only when you are promised to a nobleman will you be allowed home, should it take one year or ten.”

She was sat in a chair facing the window. She was thin, and her normally full and rosy face was gaunt. Her wide, emerald eyes watched the evening sky, and she said nothing to him.

“Your body is weak, my child, I know,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “And your spirit broken. But now you have an opportunity to rebuild yourself as something righteous and good. A woman worth having, worth inheriting our name, this castle. You can finally, truly, be worthy of the name du Castille. Take solace in that child. Your dark night has nearly come to an end.”

She said nothing. He smiled, softly, and left the room. The door was shut and barred behind him. He left a perfectly broken and empty shell of Adelaine du Castille behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This turned out bleaker than I imagined, but please check back soon for the next chapter!


	6. Cannot be Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every story has two sides.

Adelaine's father had broken her.

Or so he thought.

When food had not arrived on the second day Adelaine knew precisely what her father was doing. It was a long held belief of his that you could break a willful person down and rebuild them into who you wanted them to be. She’d seen him do it to servants, even her own mother, as a means of getting what he wanted.

She considered breaking out and fleeing, venturing across the lands and stealing Jeanne away. But it was too risky. Too many variables. Too great a chance that she would never see her love again. So she waited.

In her time alone, she would spend much of it in silent meditation, ensuring her mind stayed clear, and her body wanted for as little as possible. It was hard, but eventually she became accustomed enough to the exercise so much that, when the meager meals came, they were just enough to satiate her. The blandness of the food was meant to demoralize her, but fine dining was never her priority. She’d spent half the nights of her youth out in the land roasting unseasoned game above an open fire, and it always tasted finer to her than anything served at the family table.

The whipping had been a surprise, and the pain unimaginable, but she endured it with the steel of every ounce of her will, focusing on her memories with Jeanne to keep from losing herself. Each horrible, agonizing strike fueled the flames of passion and rage.The beatings did purify her, in a way. They removed distraction and focused her on her goal. The scars would never fade, she knew, they were too deep.

They would help her remember.

She’d been expecting the trick with her horse, though it still stung. Démonté had been a friend to her and true companion, and Adelaine’s heart already ached in missing her.

But she’d need her strength for the days ahead. Despite her meditations she’d lost a lot of weight during her captivity. She ate every last bite, thanking her departed companion with each swallow. She promised to repay this affront in kind.

The final stage of her father’s plan was also a reasonable assumption she had made. Meditation had become second nature to her by then, and she often slipped into it whenever she was still, as she had when he came to her.

He thought Adelaine broken and empty with no will left to command her weakened body. He had forgotten something: Adelaine du Castille was perfect. The pressure with which he meant to break her only managed to harden her will, as coal is pressed into diamond.

In reality, though Adelaine was down quite a bit of mass, she was still strong and vital. She had made sure to keep her muscles active so they wouldn’t atrophy too greatly, doing sparing lifts and simple exercises any time she had the energy.

The real reason she would not move or speak was out of fear that she would kill the Marquis with her bare hands and attempt an escape. Her rage was too often the better of her, and she knew too many ways to do it. She wanted to do it. But it would not bring her beloved back to her. She needed to wait. Her father did not see the dents her fingers pressed into the arms of her chair.

It was a week later she was dressed in a fine, linen gown of pure white and carried to the Temple to Eldath, the god of peace and light. While Eldath was, to most of the neighboring nations, a benevolent, accepting god, the people of Montejuron saw him as a keeper of a sacred peace that required an adherence to sacred commandments, one of which Adelaine and Jeanne had broken during their moonlit trysts. Several, if she was being honest.

The initial ceremony was long and dull, involving a great deal of chanting and dreary songs. Her mother was there, having returned from her mission during her captivity. She had a bitter look and wouldn’t meet Adelaine’s eye. When Adelaine was a child, she remembered the brazen fire that filled her mother, her will and rebelliousness. That fire was gone, now, and her rebellion only done in terrified secrecy.

Once the sermon ended, she was brought before the bishop and made to make the first oaths.

“Do you,” he cried, “Adelaine du Castille, swear to uphold the glory of god wherever you go?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to uphold your sacred oath in all times, and in all places?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to hold fealty to god in your truest of hearts?”

“I do.”

“Then it is time for you to make your final oaths as a Paladin of Eldath. Take her to the chamber of oaths/”

She was ushered to a small side room that featured only a small rug and a shrine to Eldath. These oaths, her promise to the god, were to be made in private, only shared with the divine themselves. Of course, the Marquis had already told her the oath she would be making, one of repentance and fealty to their name, one that invoked him more often than the god. He made her repeat it twice on the carriage ride to the temple.

But she was alone, now. This was the moment she had planned for. She moved the heavy, golden totem to Eldath off the plinth and replaced it with a small, wooden sculpture from her sleeve. She had carved it out of a bedpost with the meat knife her father had given her the week before.

It was crude, but its shape was clear: an hourglass bisected by a sword.

She put it on the altar and knelt before it.

“I speak to you, goddess of a foreign land. I speak to you, daughter of Justice and Night. I speak to you, Adraestia, the ticking clock of retribution. Hear me, oh goddess: Nemesis.”

There was an imperceptible rumble beneath her that rattled the little sculpture.

“I have been wracked by injustice, crimes to my person, by that of my own blood. I have been beaten, starved, but, worst of all, I have been parted from my truest love. I ask for your power to serve satisfaction upon my aggressors. I swear to you an oath, not one of justice, nor redemption. I swear to you an oath of conquest. To hold my beloved in my arms again, I will see this kingdom brought to heel, the house of my father crushed to rubble, and all of my enemies, the fools that pretend to greatness, shall run the streets of Montejuron red with their blood, or black with their burned flash. Do you accept this, oh goddess?”

The candles in the walls flickered twice then roared to double their height.

She grinned. “Then so I, Adelaine du Castille, do swear it. I swear conquest. I swear revenge.”

She felt the power course through her. It felt…amazing. Like adrenaline, but more pure and focused. Knowledge of her new abilities rushed into her mind, the power to smite evil, to guide her hand by the divine, to instill in all who looked upon her with dread, but there was no time to test it. She replaced the golden idol and stowed the little sculpture. No one would ever know what she’d done.

She returned to the main temple where the cleric uttered more useless words over her and, after, she was returned to her home. In her room, she found a fine meal upon the table, a bottle of wine, and her sword and armor, polished to perfection upon a stand. Her shield, which was previously shining and bare, was emblazoned not with the image of holy Eldath, but a phoenix rising in a ring of fire, the sigil of her family. On the table was a note in her father’s tight script: ‘See me before you leave.’

It was already her plan.

She ate and drank well that night, savoring the realization of the plan she had been formulating all these miserable weeks. She had much to do come morning, before she could grasp at freedom. She would be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll have the last chapter up soon!


	7. I'll Return in a Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adelaine makes a promise.

Adelaine rose the next morning feeling lighter than she had in ages. She donned her armor and sword, and departed for her father’s study. The guards that had been posted outside her door for months were gone.

She found him there, flanked by guards, and two more on the inside of the door that trailed her as she approached his desk. At his back was Bryce. He wore more gold than she had ever seen on him, and his red locks were shaggier than before.

He smiled at her. “My daughter, you have come so far in these months. I’m proud of you, and confident that you will do well on your mission.”

Her eyes flicked to her cousin. “Why is he here?”

“She can speak,” Bryce laughed, “After what you’ve been through I’d worried you lost your lovely voice.”

“So you knew?”

“Of course. In fact, some of it was my idea. I was just so concerned with making sure that you would be cleansed of your deeds, I shared with your father some new concepts.”

She nodded.

“Bryce,” her father said, “Is also here as my plan B. Should you fail, or take too long to return, you’re inheritance will pass to him.”

“You’re giving him everything?”

“If you perish, or prove again that you do not deserve it.”

“You must understand,” Bryce drawled, “Of course we care so deeply for you, dear Addie, but there is so much more at stake! The reputation and well being of the house of-why are you laughing? Why is she laughing?”

Adelaine had, indeed, begun to giggle as he spoke, which had risen to a genuine belly laugh, so loud and raucous that everyone in the room stared at her with silent shock.

“I…I’m sorry,” she wiped a tear from her eye, “That look, what you’re saying, these threats, it’s so…ridicule. You want this dreary little hole? Take it. The titles? They’re yours. You can have my worthless parents, too, I promise I do not want them. Does that make you happy, Bryce? Does that fill the void in your soul?”

He stared at her, aghast. She grinned.

“You made such a mistake, both of you, thinking you could remold me. Thinking I was weak enough for such paltry tricks. I am your daughter, after all, Renard. And just as clever and resilient. Non, papa, I don’t care for this little game and its empty words. You can’t disown me. Nor can you hand anything to this gibbering _imbécile_ while I still live. No, you’re hoping I either do exactly as you ask and reclaim your glory, or die out there, on the road, which by the way, Bryce, is the only way you’re getting my inheritance from this _avare_. That’s not what will happen. You’ve hurt me, papa. More than the whips or the hunger. You stripped me of all that mattered, and I aim to reclaim it. I will be back, but I will not return in wedding bells or redemption. I’ll return in a fury, and burn down everything you’ve ever loved before I toss you off this earth into the deepest of the nine hells.”

Her father laughed, “You truly are my daughter, clever, resilient, but you don’t frighten me. You’ve never seen war or real bloodshed. You’ve never taken a life. I’m not scared of you, _mon petit fleur_ , because you’ll go and in half a month of real hardship you’ll be begging the next _Duc_ you meet to wed and bed you so you can run home to your lap of luxury. You are not ruthless enough to stick through this. To do what you must. You would never hurt me.”

Adelaine shook her head. “Ruthless? _Papá_ , you hardly know the meaning of the word.”

He smiled like a viper. “Oh, do I?”

“You happily dance over the corpses of commoners and foes, but at every step you worry about your reputation. Your name. What your peers think of you. What that fool King thinks of you. Are your coffers full? Are your peers envious? No, papa, to be ruthless is not about being cruel or vindictive or proud. It’s about seeing your destiny as clear as day, and the line from desire to achievement as bright, clean, and unbending. It’s about caring for nothing that touches that line but the beautiful perfection of your goal. That is ruthlessness. Allow me to demonstrate.”

In a flash like lightning she had drawn her sword and pivoted, drawing it through the throat of the guard behind her right flank. His partner hadn’t even touch his own sword as she spun and plunged the tip of her gleaming blade through the slot in his helmet, punching through the space between his eyes, stopping only when she felt the tip hit steel.

She withdrew her sword and turned just as the guards by her father understood what was going on and rushed around the table, weapons drawn. She deflected an easy high strike off the flat of her blade.

The other came in with a stab. She turned, dodging the thrust and shoved her shoulder into him, knocking him back. The first came at her again with a two-handed strike. She blocked low on his blade where the momentum was weakest, pivoting her grip and throwing it out of control so the swing continued wide and embedded into the wood of the heavy desk. He pulled, but it held tight. She spun her steel and sliced a perfectly precise strike at the gap in the armor along his leg, drawing blood and forcing him to a kneel.

His partner reemerged with a flurry of steel. She dodged the first swipe with a small duck and parried the second, spinning her riposte into his hand. His blade clattered to the ground with a clang, but he had no time to lament this as she swept up, cutting his jugular and shoving him, twitching and gasping, to the ground.

Without losing a beat, she whipped around, arcing her blade in a semi-circle, and, snicker-snack, lopped the final guard’s head clean off of his body. It toppled to the ground, and his corpse slumped over, oozing red.

Her back was to her father and cousin, and Bryce thought to take advantage. He drew a long, dueling dagger from his coat in a blur and vaulted the desk with a single bound, ready to plunge his steel into Adelaine’s back.

She was ready for his easy gambit, and spun back with an almost effortless flourish of her longsword. There was a crimson splash and Bryce’s right hand, still holding the dagger, fell to the floor.

He landed and stared at his stump for a moment before he truly comprehended, and collapsed in a heap, wailing like a newborn baby.

“My hand!” He screamed. “You _vous salope_ , _mon putain de main_! ”

Adelaine swung her blade, flicking the last of the blood off, and sheathed it. She kicked the crying wretch in the stomach, and he quieted with a pained whimper.

“That shock you feel? That fear? That was the first step. These men helped you starve me. Whip me. But they were just following orders. Avoiding your ire. They had lives, likely families, too. None of that matters to me now that I’ve seen that look on your face. Know, _papá_ , that I will return here to exact justice, even if I must become a monster to do it. Know that nothing will stand in my way.”

He just stared at her with wide-eyes.

“Well, I’ll be off. Wish me well, it is a dangerous world, and it would break my heart if I were not to see you again. On that note, you’ll want to call him a healer before he bleeds out. I’d hate for him to miss the next part. Well, _au revoir, mon papá_ , until next we meet.”

She made a short bow, turned, and walked briskly out the door, out of the castle, and out of their lives.

 

_____________________________________________________________________

The streets of the capital of Montejuron were clean and lively. Peasants and nobles alike bustled down cobble streets, past lively markets, and trendy cafe’s on street lined with attractive, pitched-roof buildings all plastered in pleasant tones of pink and blue.

Amongst the procession of people, even Adelaine, the better part of six feet tall, clad in her resplendent armor with her mane of fiery hair, barely drew anyone’s eye, and she was not accosted until she had nearly reached the southern walls of the city.

She had donned a pack, laden with gold and supplies for the long trip ahead, and there was a horse waiting for her at the South Gate Stables. It would be a poor substitute for her dear Démonté, but it would do on the road ahead. She was passing one of the lower class neighborhoods by the wall when she heard a voice.

“Psst, _mademoiselle_? Care to nip into this alley and have a little fun?”

She turned to introduce this voice to her gauntlet when she was greeted with a wry, half-elven smile and a mop of blonde hair.

“Hello, Adelaine.”

“Austen. I thought I’d told you I would kill you when I saw you next?”

“ _Oui_ , you did.”

“Well, then…” She put her hand on her sword.

They broke into laughter. She clapped him on the shoulder.

“It’s good to see you. You delivered my missives?”

“The one’s I could. It was quite a trick to get under your window after you released me from service. Bon chance for you I know how to sweet talk the guards.”

“And understand my _entendre_.”

“You phrased it too oddly for me not to read. People like us, we must always look between the lines, non? Come, this way.” He lead her down a winding series of alleyways to an arch between two low buildings. “Just through here. I don’t know how long you have.”

“It’s enough. Thank you, Austen.”

“I want to say I’m…I’m sorry, again, for my role in this.”

“It isn’t your fault. Bryce had a plan and he was going to get to me one way or another. Luckily, I managed to cut his reach in half.” She smiled and winked at him, and headed through the arch into a small courtyard ringed by rose bushes. There was a fountain in the middle, decorated with a statue of a dancing elven woman. Sitting at its edge was Jeanne.

Her hair was shorter, stylishly so, and the reduced volume gave it better bounce so it almost seemed to hover above her shoulders in a cloud of perfect, ebony, swirls. An azure dress, cinched at the waist by a matching bodice, graced her lithe form, though, crossed as they were, Adelaine could see the outline of her coltish legs through the long skirt. And her face…

When they locked eyes it was as though gravity itself pulled them together as they rushed to embrace and shared a deep kiss. Adelaine had so much to say and so little time to say it. She put her whole heart into that kiss, and she felt her beloved do it too.

When they finally parted, Jeanne looked at her, eyes swimming. “You’re so thin,” she lamented.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Jeanne laughed.

“Still the hopeless romantic, _mon amour_.”

“Always, for you.”

Jeanne led her to the fountain where they sat, knees touching, hands clasped.

“You look troubled.” Jeanne said.

Adelaine nodded. “In my departure, I had to kill four guards. They…No, I didn’t have to. But I did.”

Jeanne looked at her. “I understand. It will be hard, like that, from here.”

“I know. I don’t want to lose myself in it. I want to stay the woman you love.”

Jeanne caressed her face. “And you always will. I know the best parts of you. I’ve seen that fire in your heart. It cannot be extinguished.”

“Are you ready for what’s next? We don’t have to do it, we could run away together, right now.”

“They would just chase us. The violations I suffered weren’t equal to yours, Adelaine, but…They have my little sister.”

Adelaine grit her teeth. “Would they hurt her?”

She shook her head. “A month ago I would have said no, but now…If Gabrielle and I ever want to be safe, what we’ve planned must work.”

“It’ll work. Do you have them?”

Jeanne nodded and extracted a stack of parchment and letters from her skirts.

“Care of my brother’s simple locks. Defensive positions, troop placements, structural weaknesses. Everything an attacking army needs for an quick and easy invasion.”

Adelaine took them and slid the papers into her pack.

“Perfect.”

“I want my family left alive, if possible.”

“I understand. I have a similar condition, or, rather, the opposite. I need to go, too much longer and… and I won’t be able-”

Jeanne kissed her lightly but passionately a dozen time over her lush lips.

“Be safe. Come back to me soon.”

“I will. From the hells themselves, Nemesis will light my way back to you. _Je t'aime_.”

“ _Je t'aime, mon cher_. Gods be with you.”

They didn’t risk another kiss for fear they’d never let it end.

Austen lead her back to the main road and she shared a final embrace with him before departing through the large gate.

The stables were just outside, where a stout, dwarvish stable keeper had prepared for her a black mare. She was a fine horse, very strong, though a bit docile to Adelaine’s tastes. She named her Abraxas, after the horse that pulled the sun across the sky in myth.

As she trotted away towards unfamiliar lands and unsure futures, she chanced one last look at the city of her birth.

She’d see it again, she promised herself.

Next time, it would burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading if you got all the way here! Like I said in the description, this is the backstory for Adelaine, so there's no conclusion just yet, but who knows? Maybe the game will go well and I'll have something interesting to transcribe.
> 
> Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for indulging this very self-indulgent little fic I wrote. If you enjoyed it, check back soon for the next chapter.


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